


Ease

by TheSouthernFalconer



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Children, Coming Out, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Family Feels, Healthy Relationships, Heart-to-Heart, Self-Indulgent, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:48:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26337490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSouthernFalconer/pseuds/TheSouthernFalconer
Summary: She knew something was wrong when she saw Misha’s hands clench and tighten over the cutlery, and he dropped them with a clatter on the table, making Julian startle and pull his own hand away with a concerned frown. His voice was weak and wobbly, but it carried all the way to the kitchen, and it was enough to make Nurlan’s heart drop.“I’m not your son.”*AKA Julian Pavlovich Devorak is the best dad, pass it on.
Relationships: Apprentice/Julian Devorak
Comments: 6
Kudos: 44





	Ease

Nurlan could tell something was wrong by the way Misha was dragging his feet, stooping his shoulders, shrinking into himself in a way that made him look about five years younger. “Alright there?” She asked once, casually, clamping down on her worry for the moment. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Julian stagger out of his study, groaning as his joints cracked spectacularly when he straightened his tall frame, and then sinking like a puddle onto the dining chair. Misha was still silent, only giving her a non-committal shrug as he loaded dinner rolls onto a large plate. Nurlan gave the soup on the stove another stir, and then put the fire out with a snap of her fingers. She ran her hand through her son’s hair. They’d have this conversation over dinner- she figured. His Papa was better at coaxing out answers when he clamped up.

She shot a glance at Julian, who looked about dead on his feet. He met her eyes with a tired smile, about to wobble up to help her, but she held up a hand to stop him. _Madeira_ , he isn’t moving an inch until he gets some food in him. “Set the table, won’t you, Misha?” She asked, watching him pick up the soup pot with mittened hands, already trying to figure out a strategy to get him started talking.

Turns out, she needn’t have thought that far at all.

Because when Misha trotted over to the dining table to set down the pot of steaming soup and then the warmed-up plates of fluffy, delicious dinner rolls, Julian cupped his cheek fondly, his bleary eyes misting over, that sap, and said, “Ah, what did I do to deserve such a darling son, hm?”

She _knew_ something was wrong when she saw Misha’s hands clench and tighten over the cutlery, and he dropped them with a clatter on the table, making Julian startle and pull his own hand away with a concerned frown. His voice was weak and wobbly, but it carried all the way to the kitchen, and it was enough to make Nurlan’s heart drop.

“I’m not your son.”

Nurlan froze between the kitchen and the dining table, nearly lurching forward on her crutches. Worried grey eyes met her own across the table, and she shrugged helplessly, seeing her own shock reflected on Julian’s face. Misha, on the other hand, was slowly inching away, shaking fingers dragging on the tabletop. He looked tiny, _terrified_ , a look on his face that she hadn’t seen there since the very early days when they’d first brought him home. It made her heart ache, and in an instant, she swallowed the taste of shock in her mouth, and by the way Julian straightened his back against the chair, she could tell that he had fallen in line too.

She walked closer, and put a gentle hand on Misha’s shoulder. Julian leaned forward, slowly taking off his gloves and setting them down on his lap. “Sit down, Misha.” He dragged out a chair with one long leg. Nurlan set her crutches down, and took a seat beside him, taking Misha’s hand in hers. “We’re not angry with you,” she said softly. “We just need to know what’s wrong, sweetheart.” Julian chimed in, swiveling his chair to fix Misha with his undivided attention.

Misha was silent for a few moments, and Julian shook his head discreetly when Nurlan made to speak again, letting him take his time.

“I’m not your son,” he repeated, a little firmer this time, and then he wrinkled his nose, as though he just realized how that had sounded. “I mean-“ the small hand in Nurlan’s twisted nervously, and she gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I mean, I’m not your _son._ ”

Nurlan nearly dropped Misha’s hand in surprise, and when she caught on, about a second after Julian did, she folded over a little, heaving a sigh with the force of her relief.

_Oh._

_That’s_ what this is about.

She saw Julian processing it, intelligent eyes contemplative for only a millisecond before a wide, welcoming smile spread across his face, as warm and comforting as a long, big hug. Her heart warmed over again as she felt Misha relaxing next to her.

“I see,” said Julian, lovingly tucking a strand of brown hair behind Misha’s ear. “Are you my daughter, then?”

“N-no. Uh, neither? Does that make sense?”

“Of course,” Nurlan held Misha tight, and Julian nodded enthusiastically. “Our child, then.” Julian pressed a kiss against Misha’s forehead. “Is that alright?”

Misha nodded, and the next words came spilling out as though they’d been sitting there for a while. “I’m not a _he_. Not a she, either, if you’d-“ they trailed off, their golden-brown eyes darting nervously from Julian to Nurlan.

“Understood.” Nurlan promised them, nuzzling her cheek against their hair. They were getting too big for her to do this as easily anymore. In a couple years, by the time they’re sixteen, they’d probably outgrow her. Misha squirmed in their mother’s arms, and she released them from her grip, relieved that they were brightening already.

Julian sighed, suddenly looking a little crestfallen. “Ah, Misha, if I, that is- we, have hurt you, by assuming-“

“Uh- that’s fine, Papa,” they said quickly. “I just figured it out- a little while ago.”

“Nevertheless,” Julian shook his head, and reached out to ruffle Misha’s hair. “We _are_ sorry if, as unintentional as it were-“

“Yeah,” Nurlan chimed in. “We are.”

Misha shrugged, a little bewildered. “Um, thanks, I guess?”

Julian laughed, and then beamed proudly. “Ah well, you’re welcome to tell us what you need, so as to, ah, feel more at ease. _Nothing_ is off the table, so to speak, not when it comes to your comfort.” He rubbed his palms together, his face lighting up with purpose. Misha cast their eyes down, frowning, biting their lip in hesitation.

“You can ask for anything, baby.” Nurlan reminded them, throwing an arm around their shoulder. “This is all about you.”

“Or nothing at all, for now.” Julian added, watching their face carefully. “You need not, uh, have it all figured out at once, as they say. We could have dinner, and go to bed, and we could talk about it again, as many times as you want, to as many _people_ as you want, whenever you’re ready.”

“That okay?” Nurlan asked, straightening their rumpled collar and stroking the side of their arm.

Misha sniffed, considering, and then they looked back up at them, their expression clearer than it had been. “I- okay, but I think, now-“ they swallowed. “I think I want a new name.”

Julian’s smile widened impossibly, and Nurlan cooed at her child, a rush of love and pride and trust and protectiveness bringing tears to her eyes. She blinked them away hastily, not wanting to give them even remotely the wrong idea. “New name, baby?” she asked. “Have anything in mind?”

They shook their head slowly. “I just want to change the first name, I think.” They replied. “Ilych Samal can stay but-“ they winced, “I don’t think I want to be called Mikhail, anymore?”

“Then you _won’t_ be, from now on.” Nurlan assured them firmly. “Don’t you worry about it, Ma and Papa's going to straighten out all the records.”

Thank _Madeira_ they were friends with the Countess.

Julian leaned against his chair, stroking his chin contemplatively. “I may have just the thing, hold on a moment-“ he shot up and practically bounded off to his study, and, a few curses and noisy rummages later, he was back, an entire pile of dusty leaflets in his arms. “Do you remember these, Nur?” he waved one at her triumphantly.

She recognized them, instantly. The leaflets full of baby names they’d begun to gather since they’d started their adoption process. She remembered poring over them together, excitedly, nervously, those jittery, exhausting few days before they’d brought their child finally, _finally,_ home.

“You’re gonna help me pick out a name? Now?” Their eyes were rounded in surprise, and Julian shook his head fondly, coming down to lift them off the chair in a hug that still swallowed them up whole. Nurlan snorted, and patted their calves from where she sat. “P-Papa-“ He released them when they let out a strangled squeak, and they took a moment to wheeze out a breath.

Their father’s eyes were watery again, his voice quivering with sincerity. “What _wouldn’t_ I do for you, my darling one? This is the _least,_ no, the _very_ least-”

“You..can wait till after dinner.”

In response, Julian swept his plate aside with a determined flourish, and Nurlan followed suit, biting down on her lip to stop herself from laughing.

“ _You_ can go on eating, little one,” he told them. “But _my_ dinner can wait.” He plopped down on the chair again, parting the leaflets into two piles, sliding one solemnly over to Nurlan before wiping down his reading glasses on his loose shirtsleeve and slipping them on.

“My child needs a name.”

**Author's Note:**

> Julian's proud of you, and loves you no matter what. 
> 
> Tumblr: AtypicalAcademic


End file.
